


Touch the Sky

by valhallamarie



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Canon, Reader is of hispanic heritage, Reader-Insert, and her family is hispanic, but it is only referenced in that she speaks the language, reader is female
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 08:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14589138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valhallamarie/pseuds/valhallamarie
Summary: Your whole life fell apart in one night, much like everyone else in the world, and all you have left are five random numbers and memories of a life left behind. This is fine by you. No expectations means no disappointment.But what happens when the Queen of the Fireflies needs a favor, and you're the only one in debt?





	Touch the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the first of many backstory tid-bits about Reader and her adventures. It's kind of short, but I'm satisfied with it for now. It's set the same day that Joel lost Sarah, which is obviously when all hell broke loose. Reader is about 16 in this memory.
> 
> The next chapter will pick up the same day, or maybe a few days, before Marlene, Joel, Tess, and Ellie all have their little meet-and-greet in that weird backroom where Ellie pulled a knife on Joel and Tess when they walked. What am I doing? Y'all know what I'm talking about.
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoy! I'm just shamlessly filling my own fantasties and wishes by writing this, but if I can help a fellow fan out, why the hell not put it on the internet?

“ _Lindita_ , wake up.” A soft, cold hand gripped your shoulder. You could feel dainty fingers digging into the hollow behind your collarbone.

You mumbled an expletive and turned over, away from the outside presence. “Too early…”

“I know, but you have to get up.” It was your _mama_ , but she sounded different. She sounded terrified. Your mind was moving too slow to process all this fast enough. “Get up!”

Suddenly, you were vaulted upwards and the world spun.

Your _mama_ ’s face was blurred, but you could make out the way her eyebrows pinched together and how her lips were pressed together so tightly that you could hardly see them. Her eyes were wider than you’d ever seen them before—so wide that you could see the edges of her caramel-colored irises that you could never see normally.

Seeing that you were gaining consciousness, she began wordlessly pulling clothes out of your dresser and shoving them into your black and white _jujitsu_ duffel bag.

It was such a familiar sight, but everything was different. The clothes were casual, but from all different seasons. Her hands shook, whereas, before, they would have been steady and sure. Even the silence was different. Instead of a calm, focused wordlessness, your _mama_ was filled with anxiety and tension.

“What’s going on _mama_? Why are you packing my bag?” Your speech was slow and rough as you tried to adjust to your sudden consciousness.

She didn’t once look at you, just kept packing; She was folding everything perfectly as she had since you were little, maybe even before then.

“Your papa wants to take us to go see _abuelo_ and _abuela_ for the weekend.” Her voice wavered when she spoke, her hands trembling violently whenever she pulled them out of the duffel.

You looked over at the clock: _2:58 a.m._ “It’s three in the morning,” You paused, a chill washing over you. “Is he drunk again?”

She froze, her hands halfway into the duffel with a crème, thick-knit sweater in her hands. You instantly regretted saying anything, shame flooding your body.

“No,” She snapped. This time, she looked at you. Her face was contorted with shock, but you could make out the fear and hesitation underneath. “Why would you say that?”

“ _Mama_ …,” You whispered, avoiding making eye contact with her. “I know that _papa_ gets crazy when he drinks. I hear him when he—”

“You hear nothing,” She spat, cutting your words off. “Your _papa_ is not drunk. He’s downstairs waiting on us.” She closed your bag, the alto-whistle of the zipper cutting through the tension like a serrated knife.

You wanted to know more—you _know_ there was more to know—but your throat tightened around any words you tried to get out.

The bag landed at your feet and, when you looked up, your _mama_ was pushing into your bathroom. The sounded of the old cabinets creaking open pierced your ears and you cringed inwardly.

“Grab your backpack, mija,” She called, her voice echoing off the beige tiles in your bathroom.

Without a thought, you followed her command, still too hazy to comprehend much. “How long are we going to be there?”

The silence that followed your question was deafening. The soft clinking of her movements stopped, and your heart leapt into your throat. _Something’s definitely wrong_.

“ _Mama_? Please…just tell me what’s going on,” You begged softly, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

A moment passed. Then, another… and another. You were about to speak up when she peered around the doorframe, her face frantic.

“I…I don’t know what’s happening,” She admitted, almost shamefully. Her footsteps were as light as always when she walked over to where you stood, still bleary and confused. “I just know that we have to go. _Now_.”

You opened your mouth to ask yet another question, but you didn’t get the chance.

Suddenly, there was screaming coming from downstairs—screaming like you had never heard before. It was like…Like something out of a horror film. It was like someone was being ripped to shreds by a wild animal, and it wasn’t just one voice; It was three, four, maybe fives voices. All of them were screeching at the top of their lungs, like their lives depended on it.

You turned to your _mama_ and she looked at you with a look you’d never seen before. It was like she was… memorizing you. “Is it that _papa_? And Gabby and Derek?” You rushed forward, towards your bedroom door, but she snatched you by the wrist and hauled you back inside. “ _Mama_! What’s going on?”

Your voice was louder that time, and that seemed to snap her out of her trance. She flung herself towards your bedroom door, slamming it shut and bracing herself against it. She looked crazed, her eyes darting around the room, searching for something that wasn’t there.

“Say something,” You shouted, scared and frustrated. “Anything!”

She looked at you, then at your dresser, and then back to you. “Help me move your dresser in front of the door.” You stood shell-shocked and utterly confused, yet again. “ _Ahora_!”

You both moved in unison, dragging the antique, maple-wood dresser across your red-carpeted floor. It was extremely heavy, almost too heavy, but a combination of determination and pure adrenaline pushed with you.

“Why are we moving my furniture?” You exclaimed, exasperated. “Why aren’t you telling me _anything_?”

Then, you heard it.

The shrieking.

It was different than last time, less human and it was… twitchy; Like the person making the noise was having a seizure.

Every muscle in your body tensed and every little hair stood to attention. _Everything was so, very wrong._

Your _mama_ turned to you, gripping you buy the shoulders and shaking you. _Hard_. “Listen to me, okay?” She ordered, using her _no-nonsense_ tone. “I need you to remember these numbers. Can you do that for me?”

“Numbers?” You sputtered, struck with disbelief. “Our family is downstairs screaming at the tops of their lungs like they’re dying, and you want me to remember some numbers?”

Her face never wavered, and her eyes never left yours. “Yes.”

“Oh.” Tears welled up in your eyes, and your bottom lip quivered. “They _are_ dying, aren’t they?”

You could see the tears starting to fall from her waterline, and suddenly you felt like sobbing as an invisible hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed with the strength of a god. _Nothing is okay_.

“ _Mamita_ , I need you to pay attention,” She urged, gripping you tighter. “Hear _every single number_ , okay?”

You shook your head. “Why can’t you just remember them? You’re coming with us to _abuelo_ and _abuela_ ’s house,” You cried, starting to shake. “You can tell them the numbers, too.”

Your _mama_ choked back a sob but managed to contain herself. “I don’t think I will, _mi amor_.”

The edges of your vision were dark, and you couldn’t feel your fingers. “ _Mama_ , I don’t want to go without you.” You were openly sobbing at this point. “Please don’t make me go.”

Before your _mama_ could reply, there was a loud crash followed by the thunderous pounding of footsteps. Too many to be less than ten. Then, there was banging on the door to your bedroom. Loud, relentless banging that seemed to nearly splinter the wood.

But that wasn’t all. High-pitched, gut-wrenching screeching accompanied the pounding and it made you sick to your stomach. The kind of screeching that gave you nightmares when you were your little sister’s age.

“We don’t have much time,” She yelled, trying to be heard over the cacophony. “Hear me, _bella_.”

You tried, so hard, to focus on her. Every ounce of your energy was now devoted to paying attention to the words that were spilling out of her mouth. Despite every bone in your body screaming at you to run, you managed it.

“ _Siete_ ,” She began, squeezing your hand.

It was like she was a million miles away, yet right inside your head at the same time.

“ _Dos_ ,” She continued, releasing your hand and lifting your duffel bag, handing it to you with ease. It was heavier than you remembered.

She disappeared into the bathroom and called out, “ _Cinco_.”

The shrieking got louder and louder, the wood of the door splintering slightly behind the dresser. Your gaze started to focus on it, so much so that it seemed like it was getting closer.

Suddenly, there was a hand on your arm and you were being dragged towards you bedroom window.

“ _Ocho_ ,” Your _mama_ yelled from beside you. She handed you your backpack, zipped tighter than you thought was possible and barely filled.

“ _Tres_.” The window was being opened before you even registered being near it. “Climb out.”

You did as she said, once again without even thinking about it. “How am I supposed to get down from the roof?”

“The car is right next to you,” She explained, pointing to it with finely manicured finger. “Jump in through the sunroof.”

“Oh.” You still felt fuzzy, but you weren’t tired anymore. “Why can’t you come, too? It’s right there. You can make it, _mama_. I know you—”

When you turned to look back at her, your entire being froze.

Her head was pulled to the side and her neck was being ripped to shreds—literally—by your next-door neighbor, Jimmy Akerman. The boy you once had a massive crush on was tearing out your mother’s throat tendon by tendon, vessel by vessel.

Her blood was everywhere: On your face, your chest, your bag. It was easier to tell where it wasn’t.

You were screaming, louder than you ever had, but your body was still. Your mouth was closed, and your hands balled into fists as you locked eyes with the first boy you ever kissed. The lips that had made you feel like a woman for the first time in your life were now drenched in your mother’s blood and covered with bits of her flesh.

It felt like watching a film. You felt like you were screaming and crying, but your body didn’t get the message. Your legs bunched together and straighten suddenly, launching you from the rooftop to the top of your mom’s red, four-door SUV. The sunroof was being open, and then you were in the driver’s seat, your bags falling into the passenger seat.

A small, scared voice called your name from behind you as the sun roof closed. You looked back and found your youngest sibling, Maya, sitting in her car seat, buckled up and everything. She had the car keys clutched in between her tiny fingers.

“ _Mama_ said to hold on tight and press _this_ button when I saw your Converse,” She stuttered, fear shaking her voice. “She said she’d be right back.”

Your body was cold, but your insides were boiling. “You…You did good, Maya. Now give me the keys so we can go.”

She had tear tracks down her face, more salted drops following the paths. “But _mama_ said that she’d be right back!”

“I know what she said, May,” You whispered. “But it’s just you and me now.” That only made her cry harder, but you couldn’t think of what else to do. “You still have that movie player back there, don’t you?”

Through her tears, she spotted it and reached down to grab it. “Yeah, it’s here. I don’t have my headphones, though.”

You reached back and patted her tiny leg, simultaneously grabbing the keys. “That’s okay. I want to hear the movie, too, this time.”

As you pealed out of your driveway and onto the neighborhood road, the crescendo of _Touch the Sky_ almost drowned the sounds of the monsters that littered the streets and the cries of families being torn apart, literally and figuratively. It was all you could not to breakdown and sob.

“ _I will ride. I will fly_.” You sang softly. “ _Chase the wind and touch the sky..."_

**Author's Note:**

> Spanish Words:
> 
> Lindita - Beautiful little girl  
> Abuelo - Grandfather  
> Abuela - Grandmother  
> Mija - My daughter  
> Ahora - Now  
> Mi Amor - My love  
> Bella - Beautiful  
> Siete - Seven  
> Dos - Two  
> Cinco - Five  
> Ocho - Eight  
> Tres - Three
> 
> "Touch the Sky" is from the Disney movie Brave, if you didn't already know. I found it fitting for Maya (pronounced my-uh) to watch.


End file.
